


One Day

by ftlow



Series: Challenge Yourself 2021 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:40:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftlow/pseuds/ftlow
Summary: One day, I will be willing to risk her pulling away from that kiss, taking a step back, lips set in a thin, disapproving line.I will be ready to deal with a short, professional reply to a risky letter, signed "Professor McGonagall" rather than "Minerva".One day, I will be ready for her to think about my halting request and shake her head regretfully. "I think it best that we remain professional, Miss Granger, for the duration of your studies."I will accept her single raised eyebrow on catching me watching her, and her cool instruction to continue writing.One day, I will take that risk. But that day is not today.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Minerva McGonagall
Series: Challenge Yourself 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149554
Comments: 15
Kudos: 65
Collections: Fandoms Challenge 2021





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> "Challenge Yourself" Week Two - write in a tense you aren't used to.  
> This is difficult given that I dabble in past and present tense. Since I also use third and second person, I decided to play with a little bit of first person, and a little bit of future tense. Hopefully it makes sense...

One day. 

One day, I will find my Gryffindor courage. I will look up at her over my quill, and admire her regal features - those sharp cheekbones, eyes the colour of the forest moss, sparkling in the firelight. I will trace those lips with my gaze, remember how they looked painted a few shades darker at our NEWT graduation ball. 

When they quirk up in amusement, I'll realise that she looked up from her book when my quill stopped scratching. I'll be suddenly nervous, but she'll simply ask - as she always does - "Are you all right, Miss Granger?" 

"Yes, Professor," I'll answer automatically, looking back at my notes. But this time, something will stop me from writing on. I will look up again, and find her still watching me from her position curled on her couch. "Please…can I just be Hermione now, Professor?" 

She will smile, and I'll treasure it for its rarity. "You're not 'just' anything, my dear. But since these studies are entirely voluntary, I see no issue with dropping the formalities." She will glance ruefully at her position. "In fact, I'd venture as far as saying we already have." And I'll laugh, just as I always do, at her dry humour and her self-depreciating wit. 

I will throw my quill down on the half-covered parchment, stand, move shyly towards the armchair, and perch on its edge. I'll bite my lip, and square my shoulders, and put out my hand. "I'm Hermione. Nice to meet you," I'll tell her. 

Her astonishment will show in her face, but her eyes will sparkle, and the edges will crease with one of those invisible smiles that doesn't show on her lips - the sort she used to give the Weasley twins, and, if I had to guess, the Marauders too. She'll take my hand in hers and shake it, and for the first time, I will hear my name from her lips. "It's a pleasure, Hermione," she will say, and I'll barely suppress a shiver as her Scottish burr reshapes my name. "I'm Minerva." 

And I'll grin, cheeks aflame, and settle back into the armchair, still feeling the ghost of her hand - long, elegant fingers, unmarred by paint or jewellery, hardened by work but not dry - in mine. "I wanted to start over," I will explain quietly. "Not completely, but... just redefine this." And I'll gesture helplessly between us. 

"You don't want me to think of you as a student any more," she will surmise, and I will be reminded yet again of how easily she reads me, and how far beyond Transfiguration her intelligence goes. 

"I was hoping... to make this relationship more personal," I will admit haltingly. "I value our time together, but there are topics which are out of bounds with that distinction in place. And it is getting very difficult not to treat you as a friend."

"Well, Hermione, I would love to be counted among your friends," she will tell me, smiling and finally putting down her book. "And I believe you have already made the transition to one of mine.”

And my cheeks, only just returned to their normal state, will colour again as she chuckles and reaches out to squeeze my hand. I will tighten my grip as she goes to pull away, and look down at our clasped hands, resting on my knee. She will quieten and glance at me askance. 

"Perhaps friendship is only the beginning," I will whisper, avoiding her eyes. She will remain frozen for a moment, for Minerva McGonagall would never suspect such a sentiment; she is wholly and blissfully unaware of her magnetism. 

"Minerva," I will say desperately to our hands when the silence becomes too heavy, and she'll tilt my chin up with her free hand to meet my eyes. 

"Perhaps it is," she will agree evenly, carefully; her eyes will flit between mine, exploring how far I mean it. She will smile when she finds her answer. "And I like the way my name sounds when you say it," she will add, a lower, huskier timbre audible, and I will ache for her touch as she withdraws her hands, even while my stomach flips with the excitement of that tone, and of her agreement. 

The rest of the evening will pass comfortably, with discussions of magical theory, ministry appointments, and Hogwarts as normal - but also some more personal topics, like my parents, and her previous careers. We will both use each others' first names more often than is strictly necessary, but after all, practice makes perfect. 

She will walk me down to the huge oak front doors, and - maintaining her headmistress image for the world - smile tightly. I will be able to see its warmth in those green eyes, though. 

"Miss Granger. A pleasure as ever," she'll say, as if we haven't just been curled up in her rooms with our shoes kicked off, but have had a formal meeting with a desk between us. Then she’ll wink.

"Headmistress," I will reply, a cheeky grin playing at the corners of my mouth. And I will tum, and stride away across the grounds, just as I always do. But this time, when I look back at Hogwarts on reaching the gate, she will still be framed in the doorway; a striking silhouette in the flickering light of the Entrance Hall. I will lift a hand, and watch hers lift in return, before I tum on the spot and disappear. 

And that will be the start of ever more personal chats, ever more relaxed catch ups, until we start meeting in Diagon Alley, or having dinner together at my flat. That will be the start of a friendship, ultimately developing into the most comfortable and rewarding relationship of my life; with a woman who respects me, and challenges me intellectually and personally, and excites me physically. That will be the start of a year of dancing around the subject, of increasingly amorous letters and longer and longer glances, until I find my second chunk of Gryffindor courage and - at one of our partings, now marked by a hug - gently press my hand to her cheek, my lips to hers. She will freeze for a fraction of a second before she responds, gentle yet full of passion, her long fingers tangling through my curls. 

One day. 

The problem, of course, is not knowing her thoughts. I will never know if I don't act - but I will not lose this friendship, I will not risk it until I'm sure of her feelings, or that we can move on from it. 

One day, I will be willing to risk her pulling away from that kiss, taking a step back, lips set in a thin, disapproving line. 

I will be ready to deal with a short, professional reply to a risky letter, signed "Professor McGonagall" rather than "Minerva". 

One day, I will be ready for her to think about my halting request and shake her head regretfully. "I think it best that we remain professional, Miss Granger, for the duration of your studies." 

I will accept her single raised eyebrow on catching me watching her, and her cool instruction to continue writing. 

One day, I will take that risk. But that day is not today. 

* * *

I will never be able to pinpoint the moment my feelings or our relationship changed; I will never know what possessed me to pull my feet up beneath me one evening during our studies and sigh contentedly, turning a page of my book. 

I will never forget the expression of naked astonishment on her face when I glanced up as her quill stopped and realised she’d noticed my change of position. I will never forget the way she smiled so brilliantly; I will never tell her how beautiful she looked in that moment, spotlighted by the evening sun with her hair pulled loosely back, a dazzling smile on her lips, eyes still wide with surprise. I will not inform her that my heart double-tapped and I felt it as a stutter in my throat, nor that my powers of speech appeared to have fled, nor that there was an odd, swooping, weightless sensation low in my stomach. 

No, she will never know how she affects me, for she is still a student - albeit the best student I have ever had the pleasure of teaching, and a voluntary student rather than a Hogwarts pupil. I would make a fool of myself, if I admitted to her what I feel during our regular evening lessons. She is always careful to stay professional, never straying from the topic of magical theory or practice, offering no personal information and asking none of me. 

I will keep my thoughts of friendship - of, perhaps, more - to myself, for she will appreciate neither. She has plenty of her own friends, her own age. She will laugh, that astonished expression on her soft features again, if I suggest a more relaxed and personal relationship. She will - kind as she is - perhaps humour me with the odd letter, perhaps use my first name. But she will not welcome anything more from this old witch. She will turn away if I move to kiss her, horror stuck, and stare at me in shock. She will decline invitations to meet elsewhere, to avoid being seen in public with her old teacher. Her kindness will be twisted, in my mind, to pity; and I will not be pitied. I will teach her, and I will dismiss this notion of friendship, of love; I will maintain what dignity I have left. 

But I will dream; I cannot help it. I will dream of my name on her lips; I will dream of visits to the muggle and magical theatres of London, of shared dinners and exchanging stories; of attending functions together, and whirling around the dance floor as I so wished to do at her NEWT graduation ball; I will dream of the excitement of a new letter, of hurrying to write back like a lovesick teenager; I will dream of waking slowly, of seeing her face - relaxed in sleep - beside mine, her arm thrown casually over my waist. 

I will swallow every word of affection I want to shower her in, and treasure what I am allowed to have with her, even as I watch carefully - hopefully - for any indication that she might want something more. 

Anything will do. 

* * *

And so it will be that, one day, Hermione Granger - three years after completing her NEWTS, with record- breaking results - will finally ask Minerva McGonagall to use her given name. 

By then, she will be a celebrated magical researcher and inventor in her own right, and she will still visit the castle at least once a fortnight, whether to discuss her research with the headmistress or just to sit in companiable silence to work. She will claim that the library is second to none, and the castle still feels like home, and that the history of the building forces her to concentrate.

Eventually, she will admit that Minerva is the real draw. 

Minerva, barely able to believe it, will stutter, and Hermione will be delighted to have rendered her speechless. Minerva will admit that she's been hoping for this moment for three years, but also that she fears Hermione is simply being kind to an old woman. 

Hermione will know words alone won't dissuade Minerva. She will visit the castle ever more often, and open up ever more deeply, until Minerva begins to do the same. She will treasure every new bit of information offered, and Minerva will second-guess everything she lets slip, torn between joy at what is blossoming between them but also disbelief that Hermione is on the same page as she.  
  
Minerva will begin to relax, to believe it, when Hermione's owl arrives asking her permission to steal her away from Hogwarts one night during half term, and if so would she please dress suitably for an evening in muggle London and allow Hermione to fetch her at half past five sharp. 

She will dress in black trousers and a forest green blouse, leaving her hair loose in a moment of daring; she will race down to the gates in her cat form when the flash of confidence vanishes on considering the staff and students who remain in the castle.  
  
Hermione will arrive promptly in a pair of black jeans and a teal jumper, heeled boots bringing her closer to Minerva's height than ever; she will appear rather more nervous than Minerva expected. She will grin at Minerva's quiet compliment, and lift her hand to ebony curls, mouth open. 

"You look beautiful," she will say breathlessly, and Minerva will laugh, shaking her head. 

"It's a few decades since anyone has been able to accuse me of that," she will reply, offering Hermione her arm. "So where are you taking me?" 

And so will begin an evening of good food, expensive wine, exquisite company, and the most wonderful performance of The Phantom of The Opera. Minerva will remember her old dream as they arrive outside the theatre, and smile, tearful; Hermione will be nervous, hoping she had remembered Minerva’s love of musicals correctly, and that she hadn't seen this one too many times, and Minerva will lift a hand to her cheek, smiling tremulously. "It's perfect," she will assure her. 

The show will be spectacular, and yet Hermione will spend a significant part of it watching Minerva. As the curtain drops for the last time and the last note fades, she will reach for Minerva's hand. "You really are beautiful," she will whisper as the lights gradually return. Minerva, still spellbound by the performance, won't be able to reply. 

At the school gates, neither will want to leave. Minerva will catch Hermione's hand and pull her into a hug, breathing in the familiar almond smell. 

"Thank you," she will say simply, unable to convey how much it means to her, unable to say any more without giving herself away entirely. 

And Hermione will smile her wide, dazzling smile, her chocolate eyes burning. "Thank you, Minerva," she will reply somewhat cryptically, and before Minerva can make sense of the words, Hermione's lips will be pressing gently onto her cheek, warm and soft.

And really, Minerva will have no choice but to lift her hand to Hermione’s cheek, and sigh, and meet those lips with her own - soft, gentle; a question. They will end with their foreheads pressed together, Hermine smiling, Minerva suddenly terrified, wondering if she had overstepped, hoping their friendship could be salvaged, kicking herself for ruining such a perfect night. And then Hermione will chuckle. 

"I can hear you panicking," she will say, and her lips will press once, twice, to Minerva's. "I've wanted this for so long, but I was so sure you wouldn't.. " 

Minerva will swallow. "You have?" She will ask, barely a whisper, her heart rate becoming impossibly quicker. 

"I have," Hermione will murmur. "'One day,' I kept telling myself. But I wasn't prepared to lose you completely, so I put it off again and again. Not very Gryffindor of me." 

And Minerva will lean back and scrutinise her for so long that Hermione will be the one panicking. "It's okay if you don't - I mean, if you didn't mean- or if you regret-" 

"Hermione," Minerva will say finally, cutting her off and catching her hands, which are twisting together nervously. "I have wanted you for nearly four years - from the moment I let myself admit it, from the moment you legally graduated. But I swore I would never tell you, because I knew there was no way you'd want this old woman, and your kindness would tie you to me in friendship if nothing else." 

Hermione will squeeze Minerva's hands, swallowing. "I will always want you. I have always wanted you," she will breathe. "I just thought you wouldn't want someone so young, so inexperienced and so foolish, when there are so many more accomplished, intelligent-"

Minerva will cut Hermione off with a kiss - this one less gentle, and more desperate, more hungry. "Enough," she will chide. "You are by no means average for your age." 

And Hermione - flushed, breathless - will smile bashfully and draw her hand down Minerva's wavy hair, right to the ends in the small of her back. "I don't want to let you go," she will admit shyly, playing with the ends of ebony locks. 

"Then don't," Minerva will breathe, uncharacteristically nervous, almost pleading. 

"Never," Hermione will assure her. "Never. I meant... now, I don't want tonight to end. It will feel like a dream in the morning." 

So Minerva will throw caution to the wind and say, "Stay." 

Hermione will stare, and Minerva will colour scarlet; Hermione will store the memory forever, enjoying this much less self-assured Minerva McGonagall. 

"Not... I didn't mean... Ach. I don't want it to end either," she will elaborate. "It's been so wonderful." 

And so Hermione will smile, and let Minerva lead her into the castle. She will sleep in transfigured pyjamas on a transfigured bed, and wake to Minerva curled on the window seat in a patch of sun - very catlike, in fact - watching her with the softest and most tender expression. 

And so they will grow together; the Wizarding World will reel with the news of their relationship, with questions about the age gap, about each of their previous relationships, speculating on their combined power both magically and socially; neither witch will pay the rumours much mind, for their insecurities are discussed and laid to rest together. 

Hermione will move into the castle, continuing her research; many of the students have no idea of her presence. Minerva will continue to be a strong headmistress; fair, but strict, and revered. They will spend all the holidays together, walking the beautiful highlands around the castle, talking until there’s nothing left to say

One day, almost three years later, they will again travel to a muggle theatre. They will have seen countless plays and musicals, but this time, they will be seeing Phantom again, with a new and particularly celebrated cast. It will, of course, be wonderful; Hermione will muse on the muggle word ‘spellbound’, and privately agree that some magic is, indeed, naturally occurring.

After the performance, out on the street in the Christmas lights decorating the west end, Minerva will direct their feet towards a tiny green park, all its trees carrying strings of fairy lights. A bemused Hermione will follow - and there, unobserved, in muggle London where neither of them are recognised for their jobs or their roles in the war, Minerva will drop to one knee and produce a beautiful Celtic knot ring set with a single diamond.   
  
"Oh!" Hermione's hand will shoot to her mouth. 

"Hermione Jean Granger, you have brought new light to this old woman's life, and I wouldn't be without you. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" 

And Hermione will laugh, and drop to her knees to wrap her arms around Minerva. She will pull back, grinning, and dig a box from her pocket, popping it delicately open to reveal a similarly styled ring - a diamond held in two tiny metal hands - set on an emerald cushion.   
  
Minerva's eyes will fill with tears as she stares down at it, and she will smile so widely she fears her face will crack. They will each slide their rings onto one another' hands and admire them, twinkling in the fairy lights. 

"We always were on the same wavelength," Hermione will muse. 

"We were, love. We are," Minerva will reply, pulling her onto her feet and into a tight hug. 

"I love you," they'll whisper together, and chuckle, both playing with the new rings on their fingers. 

One day, they will share their news with the rest of the wizarding world. But not yet. 


End file.
